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On Thursday I went forth to teach at the BFI. That's the British Film Institute - and the constituency was a group of home schooled 12-16 year olds, although I swear most looked younger. It was difficult to know how to pitch it - instinctively I didn't talk down, but three hours is a long time or not long enough. For reasons which need not detain us, I didn't get the script assembled until the night before and was choosing clips at 2.30am. Not smart.
Getting there was fun - I'd managed to offload the urgent purchasing of tickets that needed to be done at 10am, and I'd decided that, of the four potential routes, the train to Victoria was simplest and speediest. Only there was a bomb scare at Rainham, so I ended up on the fast train, have just missed the slow train to Waterloo East, which would be the most sensible. I say fast - the train was delayed at Ashford as the driver was stuck at Rainham (uh?), so no time was saved in the catching of this train. Thence, via tube, to Waterloo and a Bux for wifi, and trying to find the BFI and a woman who they hadn't heard of who was delayed getting there.
Feel my stress.
I went straight out to Bethnal Green to walk to my hotel in London Fields - bit of a trek in retrospect, and it really wasn't as dreadful a place as the online reviews suggested. I didn't find the public wifi. I could have done without the 24 hours garage next door. I fell asleep at 10pm, a little early for me. The beans were stone cold at breakfast - which fortunately I like, but, still.
Good Friday I had a day to kill before a party - the reason I had stayed over - and went to the British Museum, although a slower journey than anticipated meant that I was still drinking coffee when they opened and hit the crowds. I wasn't in the mood as I hit Anglo-Saxon remains, and thought to myself that I enjoyed Maidstone Museum rather more. Having failed to find an open Oxfam (neither Museum Street nor Drury Lane), I edited in Caffe Nerd for a couple of hours before hitting three surviving secondhand bookshops on Charing Cross Road (who clearly don't really want to sell books) and heading south to Balham. From there I took a Southern train north to Sydenham and then the Overground to Highbury and Islington - I needed a Bux for wifi and more editing and the one in Whitechapel was too far from my eventual destination. Then I wandered south, jay walking the A1, to the party at a pub just off the Regent's Canal.
I went in only really knowing the host, and slightly his girlfriend, plus his brother, who at times has stalked me via the World Service, and I am not a party bunny, so it was a little scary. Would I find people to talk to? Would I hide in the corner? Would I get distracted by all those seventies sf paperbacks including 334 and The Sundered Lands? Would I get spectacularly drunk? I got to spend little time with the host, as expected, but still found people to talk to and had a great time. This was somewhat despite the pub which, although stocking Seafarers and Spring Summat and an Adnams, seemed to have run out of glasses (I'm guessing they don't expect having twelve customers at any one time) and didn't seem able to serve, let alone in sequence.
Then I walked back.
I'd researched transport links, of course, but most involved walking half a mile north or south and catching a bus east before walking half a mile south or north. Or I could walk a mile east. Ish. Along the canal was ruled out, too muggable I felt and too much chance of a plunge, and besides it was more or less a straight line, aside from going north and south at two points, and obviously not cutting through London Fields. Actually, I did cut through London Fields. I hardly saw anyone - mostly women on their own - and three guys who offered to knock me out for a tenner, which seemed reasonable, although they'd have to gave me change from a twenty pound note.
I really could have done without the drum n bass at 5am from the garage.
After more cold baked beans, and a slow checkout, I went to meet Prof Rog at Spitalfields - which has clearly changed since my last visit. A couple of Americanos later I headed back to Victoria, via Oxfam on Strutton Green, where I bagged the Patrick Ness trilogy. And then the train home, mercifully straightforward although for once I needed to be in the front four carriages.
Then, I crashed. I have no idea why my stress levels hit the roof...
Getting there was fun - I'd managed to offload the urgent purchasing of tickets that needed to be done at 10am, and I'd decided that, of the four potential routes, the train to Victoria was simplest and speediest. Only there was a bomb scare at Rainham, so I ended up on the fast train, have just missed the slow train to Waterloo East, which would be the most sensible. I say fast - the train was delayed at Ashford as the driver was stuck at Rainham (uh?), so no time was saved in the catching of this train. Thence, via tube, to Waterloo and a Bux for wifi, and trying to find the BFI and a woman who they hadn't heard of who was delayed getting there.
Feel my stress.
I went straight out to Bethnal Green to walk to my hotel in London Fields - bit of a trek in retrospect, and it really wasn't as dreadful a place as the online reviews suggested. I didn't find the public wifi. I could have done without the 24 hours garage next door. I fell asleep at 10pm, a little early for me. The beans were stone cold at breakfast - which fortunately I like, but, still.
Good Friday I had a day to kill before a party - the reason I had stayed over - and went to the British Museum, although a slower journey than anticipated meant that I was still drinking coffee when they opened and hit the crowds. I wasn't in the mood as I hit Anglo-Saxon remains, and thought to myself that I enjoyed Maidstone Museum rather more. Having failed to find an open Oxfam (neither Museum Street nor Drury Lane), I edited in Caffe Nerd for a couple of hours before hitting three surviving secondhand bookshops on Charing Cross Road (who clearly don't really want to sell books) and heading south to Balham. From there I took a Southern train north to Sydenham and then the Overground to Highbury and Islington - I needed a Bux for wifi and more editing and the one in Whitechapel was too far from my eventual destination. Then I wandered south, jay walking the A1, to the party at a pub just off the Regent's Canal.
I went in only really knowing the host, and slightly his girlfriend, plus his brother, who at times has stalked me via the World Service, and I am not a party bunny, so it was a little scary. Would I find people to talk to? Would I hide in the corner? Would I get distracted by all those seventies sf paperbacks including 334 and The Sundered Lands? Would I get spectacularly drunk? I got to spend little time with the host, as expected, but still found people to talk to and had a great time. This was somewhat despite the pub which, although stocking Seafarers and Spring Summat and an Adnams, seemed to have run out of glasses (I'm guessing they don't expect having twelve customers at any one time) and didn't seem able to serve, let alone in sequence.
Then I walked back.
I'd researched transport links, of course, but most involved walking half a mile north or south and catching a bus east before walking half a mile south or north. Or I could walk a mile east. Ish. Along the canal was ruled out, too muggable I felt and too much chance of a plunge, and besides it was more or less a straight line, aside from going north and south at two points, and obviously not cutting through London Fields. Actually, I did cut through London Fields. I hardly saw anyone - mostly women on their own - and three guys who offered to knock me out for a tenner, which seemed reasonable, although they'd have to gave me change from a twenty pound note.
I really could have done without the drum n bass at 5am from the garage.
After more cold baked beans, and a slow checkout, I went to meet Prof Rog at Spitalfields - which has clearly changed since my last visit. A couple of Americanos later I headed back to Victoria, via Oxfam on Strutton Green, where I bagged the Patrick Ness trilogy. And then the train home, mercifully straightforward although for once I needed to be in the front four carriages.
Then, I crashed. I have no idea why my stress levels hit the roof...
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